It was a fine Tuesday evening and the sun had chosen to come out on Belfast. My son and I put on our shoes and coats, to go to a house prayer meeting. I wondered how he was going to handle the next two or three hours. He will be surrounded by adults and none of them will be speaking our mother tongue. One thing that frustrates my son is meeting Indians in Belfast and having to speak to them in English. The thoughts in my head were too cumbersome to delve in.So I shut them out told myself ' I will keep him company'.
When we reached the house we waited with our friends for the guests. The guests were a minister and his family. So we looked forward to a time of chit-chatting,prayer, bible-reading and eating. My heart leapt for joy when in the party of guests was a 4 year-old girl Veronica. My son was thrilled, he did not have to be stuck with adults always asking him his name and about his school. 'Say. Hi ! Hanniel to our welcome surprise Veronica' I said.' Hi!' he said and smiled. The little girl hid behind her mother, as we sat down to talk, Veronica refused to open her mouth and stay stuck to her mothers arms. 'Why wont she talk', my son asked. 'She is shy, you should be doing the talking now' I said. He crept next to Veronica and started talking.
In minutes they were chasing each other, laughing, talking and left the adults to ourselves. After two hours, it was time for Veronica to leave. The parting-from-people time was similar to walking-together time, it meant questions. Why does he have to leave shortly? why can she not stay at our place? why can we not go to their house right away, why wait for another day? when will I meet her again? Then when the questions had run out the tears came. 'Please son, no crying please I' said. No more words, Hanniel turned his back on the leaving guests, a very stunned tear-less Veronica and waved bye -bye.
When the tears were gone 'why did you cry?' I asked. 'Because I dint want her to go' he said. 'And now...' I stopped there. 'She had to go.... and I am feeling better already' my son said. I envied him.
To be able to love so dearly, so fully, so really in such a short span of time. To part in sadness, but let go willingly, to remember so fondly, to recover so rapidly and to speak about it so openly. That is to love like a child.
When we reached the house we waited with our friends for the guests. The guests were a minister and his family. So we looked forward to a time of chit-chatting,prayer, bible-reading and eating. My heart leapt for joy when in the party of guests was a 4 year-old girl Veronica. My son was thrilled, he did not have to be stuck with adults always asking him his name and about his school. 'Say. Hi ! Hanniel to our welcome surprise Veronica' I said.' Hi!' he said and smiled. The little girl hid behind her mother, as we sat down to talk, Veronica refused to open her mouth and stay stuck to her mothers arms. 'Why wont she talk', my son asked. 'She is shy, you should be doing the talking now' I said. He crept next to Veronica and started talking.
In minutes they were chasing each other, laughing, talking and left the adults to ourselves. After two hours, it was time for Veronica to leave. The parting-from-people time was similar to walking-together time, it meant questions. Why does he have to leave shortly? why can she not stay at our place? why can we not go to their house right away, why wait for another day? when will I meet her again? Then when the questions had run out the tears came. 'Please son, no crying please I' said. No more words, Hanniel turned his back on the leaving guests, a very stunned tear-less Veronica and waved bye -bye.
When the tears were gone 'why did you cry?' I asked. 'Because I dint want her to go' he said. 'And now...' I stopped there. 'She had to go.... and I am feeling better already' my son said. I envied him.
To be able to love so dearly, so fully, so really in such a short span of time. To part in sadness, but let go willingly, to remember so fondly, to recover so rapidly and to speak about it so openly. That is to love like a child.
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